


There's An Old Enchanted Castle (And The Princess There Is Me)

by TheWrongKindOfPC



Category: Actor RPF, Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Gen, Holidays, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWrongKindOfPC/pseuds/TheWrongKindOfPC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew tells his niece a bedtime story. Gratuitous holiday fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's An Old Enchanted Castle (And The Princess There Is Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my lj.

Andrew thinks about lots of things that are not Jesse Eisenberg, but his sister asks his help putting Amy down for bed just when he’s thinking maybe he should call Jesse, so he’s definitely there in Andrew’s mind when Amy looks up at him and asks, “Tell me a story?”

She’s a sweet kid at six years old, all huge eyes and dangerously skinny looking arms and legs and wild hair everywhere, and she’d probably be Andrew’s favorite niece even if he did have more than one, which is why he only smiles and agrees, but he has to admit, he’s a little stumped. Usually when he babysits for her, she’s got a whole stack of books picked out for him to read before bed, but the family’s celebration this year is at Aunt Margaret’s place, and she never had kids, so Andrew is thinking that the likelihood of proper bedtime reading appearing is pretty slim. A thought occurs to him and he asks Amy hopefully, “Did you and your mom bring any storybooks here with you for bedtime?”

Amy just shakes her head though, and says, “You can think of one, though, right Uncle Andrew?” and she sounds so certain that Andrew can’t help but say yes. Unfortunately, that means he actually has to follow through and try to think of something, and his mind is suddenly and terribly blank. He asks her, “What do you want to hear a story about?”

“Hollywood,” she pronounces carefully and decisively, “Where you’re always going to make films. Or about kitties.” There is really one thing Andrew can think of, at the combination of those two things, though. He grins and begins, saying, “Once upon a time—“

“—Uncle Andrew! I’m not a baby!”

Andrew laughs at that, says, “Who’s telling the story, here, me or you?” and then goes on, “Once upon a time there was _a dashing handsome prince_ ,” heroically ignoring when Amy whacks him with her pillow, “Named Jesse, and he lived far far away in a distant kingdom called New York, where he was king of the cats.”

“Uncle _Andrew_ ,” Amy complains, but it sounds like it’s mostly for show, now, because she settles after that, content to listen.

“Now his majesty king Jesse had to leave his loyal subjects a few times every year to travel to the even more distant kingdom of Hollywood, in order to collect, um, tribute from the king there. Money,” he explains when Amy looks confused.

“All of his subjects missed him very much when he was gone, even the weird ones with the floppy ears who hide in closets when I—when, um, visitors of state—came to stay. Because they missed and needed him so much, King Jesse always hurried home to them as soon as he could. One trip, though, Jesse, King Jesse was detained from his speedy return by the Evil Prince Andrew, who was also visiting the kingdom of Hollywood on a diplomatic mission—“

“—but Uncle Andrew, you’re not evil!”

“Hush, this is just a story. Okay, so the evil Prince Andrew wanted King Jesse all to himself, he wanted king Jesse to stay in the kingdom of Hollywood after their diplomatic business had finished, so that they could, uh, survey the kingdom together. And, uh, play badminton.”

“What’s that?”

“A very grown-up game. There are rackets, and things. I think. Anyway, the badminton is not the point. The point is that the evil Prince Andrew consulted with the even more evil wizard Justin, from the underworld of Boybandia, and together they whipped up a mighty storm preventing all travel, and King Jesse was unable to travel back to his kingdom for many days.

The evil Prince Andrew’s plan failed, though, because King Jesse was stronger even than the temptations of weather and evil magic, and in the days before he could make his return, he played not even one game of badminton, and spent more time on the phone with the princess-regent, his sister, making sure his subjects were alright in those days then in any of the ones on his previous, planned trip, which had been significantly longer.”

“And what about Prince Andrew?” Amy sounds sleepy and worried, and Andrew, who is already sitting perched on the edge of that rickety bed she’s tucked into in the guest bedroom, stretches out his legs and lies down beside her, arms behind his head.

“He returned to his own kingdom, much wiser, and glad that he was not yet King, but only a prince, and he had time to make mistakes like that. Let this be a lesson to you, young lady—never plot with people named Justin.”

“I’ll play badminton with you, Uncle Andrew,” Amy says, but she’s already falling asleep, eyes doing that blink-ey, open-closed-open thing as she starts to drift off.

“I know you will, Princess. That’s why you’re my favorite.” Andrew switches off the little lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness, but he makes no move to leave, even though he’s still wearing shoes, so his feet are crossed at the ankle over Aunt Margaret’s guest-bedspread. He listens to his sleeping niece breathe for a while, listens to the sound of his family’s celebration downstairs, and the reaches for his phone, scrolling through to the familiar number with only the faintly blue light of the screen.

The phone rings and rings and just when Andrew is sure it will switch to voicemail, it is answered. “Hello?”

The voice on the line doesn’t _sound_ unfriendly, which is really all it takes to send a smile stretching across Andrew’s face. “Hey, Jess.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jesse says, and he sounds a little shy.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas,” Andrew points out, smile stretching wider. “I don’t either, mostly.”

“Just good wishes, then?” Jesse offers. “Season’s greetings.”


End file.
